<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>im my own doctor by Ganine</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27695597">im my own doctor</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ganine/pseuds/Ganine'>Ganine</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Persona Rarepair Week 2020 [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Persona 3, Persona Series</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood, F/M, Flowers, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt/Comfort, Persona Rair Pair Week 2020, Pining, Roses, Vomiting, bufu/agi users are naturally hot/cold, i dont make the rules thats just facts, idc what any of yall say minato is a remo drive stan, persona rair pair week 2020 day 1, this is im my own doctor propaganda stream or ill beat u up 😀👍, yes its 2 am and WHAT abt it 😐</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 03:08:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,663</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27695597</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ganine/pseuds/Ganine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>I've been self-diagnosing all of my problems</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Carrying all my stress in the jaw</em>
  <br/>
  <em>I've got all sorts of health products</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Aspirin and Robo and my new skincare wash</em>
  <br/>
  <em>It couldn't be excessive caffeine</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Dehydration or lack of sleep</em>
  <br/>
  <em>I need something real heavy</em>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arisato Minato/Kirijo Mitsuru</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Persona Rarepair Week 2020 [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2025464</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>im my own doctor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is for the persona rare pair week and ure not gonna question it 🥱 stan mitsumina or die by my hand ❤️</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It doesn’t alarm him at first, a simple little cough. He muses it’s likely due to some cold going around, however, it persists. It persists long into the month of November, the cough refusing to release its iron hold on Minato. </p><p>It’s when rose petals begin to spew from his mouth with forceful aggression when Minato Arisato knows he’s screwed. His teammates and friends grow concerned, the cough he’d brushed off weeks before growing with a fiery intensity and vendetta against him.</p><p>He’s not entirely sure what it is, but his several late-night Google searches have plenty of answers. When did it start? The violent little shit that nestled its way into his lungs, a result of whatever deed his heart had done without his permission.</p><p>As Minato, hunched over and heaving into the dorm bathroom, tries to recall when this began. He can’t, his mind frazzled and delirious while wonderful, vibrant drops of red drip from his mouth. It came fast, and it worsened just as quickly. </p><p>Then, the sickish green bile comes next. It fills his mouth before the final piece of this sickening process decides he’s in enough pain to make its grand entrance. Minato heaves, knuckles white as they grip onto the rim of the toilet. Roses spill out, ones he would’ve thought beautiful if it were not the stains of blood on their petals and on their stems.</p><p>It’s only been, what? A month since this started? He underestimated how fast it would’ve spread, but it’s too late now. Minato couldn’t even make an educated guess at this point till how long his lungs would be filled with flowers.</p><p>Time is irrelevant as this painful process repeats until it deems that Minato has had enough torture for the day and brings its episode to a conclusion. It takes just as long as he was in here to collect himself, bringing himself to his feet while taking a pained, shaky breath.</p><p>His hair is frazzled, dried blood painted on the corner of his lip, the only vibrant feature from his sickly pale face. The sink runs, allowing him to clean off and the color to return to his face. He notices the specks of blood on his button-up shirt, musing he’ll have to change. </p><p>Once deciding he doesn’t look as though he’s dying, Minato leaves the restroom. </p><p>—</p><p>He’s not sure if hanging out with her makes it worse or soothes it, but it certainly does <em> something </em>. He smiles, one of the few genuine ones he can muster nowadays before he feels one of the onslaughts of grinding coughs that itch in his throat. </p><p>The napkin he brings into his mouth is stained with blood and rose petals, almost as though they were mocking Minato as the cause of them sits right in front of him. </p><p>“Are you alright?” Mitsuru, concern present in her eyes, frowns. “I’m beginning to worry, is this the same cough from October?” </p><p>Minato waves his hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry about me, I’m fine,” He forces a smile. “Nothing that won’t go away with a little time.”</p><p>Mitsuru protests. “Are you sure? We can have a doctor-”</p><p>“<em> No </em>.” It comes out much more forceful than he meant it to. “No,” He repeats, softly. “It’s nothing you should worry about.”</p><p>What a load of bullshit.</p><p>—</p><p>He wakes in a cold sweat, roses pouring out from his mouth. It’s worse this time, the thorns scraping by his throat and the roof of his mouth, leaving bloody cuts. He scrambles from his tousled blanket, roses spewing and leaving a trail in their wake.</p><p>His vision is dazed, lungs burning and chest feeling so tight that it felt as though the hand of God was attempting to pop it. He coughs a bloody, dry, ugly little cough that should wake the entire dorm. He needs to get to the bathroom, <em> now </em> . It takes far, <em> far </em>, too much effort to open his door as he scurries down the hall, petals trailing from his mouth.</p><p>Minato makes a pathetic attempt at holding in the flowers as he stumbles down the stairs, a hand clamped over his mouth. The bathroom his only aim, blood staining his bare torso. Dignity is his least priority as his lungs threaten to suffocate him, each step getting harder and harder to breathe. </p><p>There is a voice that breaks the pain for a split moment, a soft, commanding, voice he knows all too well. It’s the voice he hears in his dreams, the one he daydreams of, the one he could hear go on and on for hours. </p><p>The one he wishes would not be the one seeing him right now. It’s not as though he can speak right now, anyway, flowers blooming in his lungs and clogging his throat.</p><p>“Arisato?” She speaks, and he hadn’t the courage to turn around. She comes nearer, and it seemingly worsens the things spawning in his chest. The pain comes back either way, tenfold to what it was and tears prick in the corner of Minato’s eyes.  </p><p>“Arisato, is everything ok?” Asks Mitsuru. He turns to meet her, the blood dripping from his mouth as he spits out petals.</p><p>—</p><p>The episode passes as they always do. After hours, or minutes, they all feel the same in the end. He doesn’t know the time, nor what she thinks. Mitsuru is silent as he cleans the blood from his mouth and the drops that dripped down. </p><p>“What was that?” He can barely hear her, her voice a slither in the dark.</p><p>“Hanahaki disease.” He replies, throwing the towel down. </p><p>Mitsuru glares. “That’s not real, Arisato.” </p><p>Minato picks up the wash towel again, bringing it to where it cups his face and forcing a cough out of him. It hurts, feeling his chest constrict and the petals rise. Minato hands it to her, allowing her to see the blood and the flowers that belong to him.</p><p>She takes it, confusion on her face before it settles into horror. </p><p>“I guess it wasn’t just a cough, huh?” He says, although bitterness is the only thing present in his tone.</p><p>“Who...who is it?” </p><p>Minato grits his teeth. “I don’t know.”</p><p>“Yes, you do.”</p><p>“No, I <em> don’t </em>.” She approaches him, a determined set of hazel eyes glaring him down. </p><p>“Even if I did believe you, which I don’t,” She doesn’t allow him to protest before continuing. “You need a doctor.”</p><p>He can’t exactly say she’s <em>wrong</em>, since what his google searches have told him surgery is the only other way to rid himself of this damned sickness. But, he doesn’t necessarily <em>want </em>it gone, as incredulous as that sounds.</p><p>Not when he knows who’s causing it. He sees her lips move, yet he can’t hear the words. He’d miss the butterflies that rumble in his stomach when he talked to her, or the <em>joy </em>he would feel when she asked to do things with him. Minato doesn’t know what he’d do without those feelings, a silly little part of him saying that he <em>would </em>rather die than live in a mind that doesn’t recognize his feelings for her. </p><p>“Are you listening to me? I said we can have you admitted in a few hours-”</p><p>“I don’t want the surgery.” She looks flabbergasted at his statement, almost distraught he would even say such a thing. “I’d rather die than live without these feelings.”</p><p>“Y-you’re being dramatic,” she rambles. “It’s a high school crush, Arisato! Think about this-”</p><p>“I have, I think about it every night because they’re all I ever think about. Because they’re the only one who seems to even care.” Minato feels her hands grip his shoulders, they’re surprisingly cooler than he expected. </p><p>“I can’t let you suffocate in your own body, Arisato,” Mitsuru chews the inside of her cheek. “We need you.” He doesn’t meet her gaze. “Now, please, let me help you as you’ve done me.”</p><p>Minato has the urge to laugh at the irony, however, he knew it would only cause pain in his crowding lungs.</p><p>“You can’t help me,” he slumps in her grip. “Not unless you feel the same,” Minato observes the gears turning and rotating in her mind as the realization dawns on her.</p><p>Her grip on him loosens, a distant look etched on her face. There’s not much she can really say to him, honestly, not when he knows she doesn’t reciprocate. He feels much colder as the late-night settles upon them, or as the flowers cut off his airway and he grows to the temperature of a corpse.</p><p>“Good night, Senpai.” Mutters Minato, finding his way towards the stairs. Her fingers wrap around his wrist, so delicately it was as though if she pulled him into her too hard he would dissolve into roses before her. “Senpai-?”</p><p>“I never said I didn’t feel the same.” </p><p>—</p><p>She’s cold as he fits into the curves of her slender arms, almost as cold as their hearts. However, they mesh well as the warmth begins to return to him, melting the ice they had used as armor. It doesn’t pain to breathe as much, that Minato notices. </p><p>He doesn’t realize how tired he is until that moment, sleep avoiding him and avoiding him well during his time with his sickness. Minato can intake every smell again, from the lavender of her bedsheets to the aroma in her hair. He can’t describe it, the closest thing he can muster is that of an evening in spring. </p><p>It’s her, it’s uniquely Mitsuru in every sense of the phrase. He can smell it mixed in with her bedsheets, her skin, the pillowcase he lays his head upon. Hands coarse through his hair like a seamstress, in a repetitive, precise, careful motion. Minato’s eyes droop, the smell of blood and roses no longer present in his nose as well as the fear of suffocating in his sleep.</p><p>The only thing he can remember is the kiss placed upon his head before sleep overtakes him.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>